


Lost In Translation

by DarkwingSnark, Moonbeamcat



Category: Randy Cunningham: 9th Grade Ninja
Genre: Comedy, Gen, Male Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-28 19:07:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3866383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkwingSnark/pseuds/DarkwingSnark, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonbeamcat/pseuds/Moonbeamcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Friday night, alone with the boss in the McFist Mansion-- it soon comes to Viceroy's attention that Hannibal McFist has no clue about his sexual orientation. It's up to the scientist to give the man a hint before he winds up in some undesirable conditions of living in a straight man's world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Hannibal McFist stared boredly out the large windows of his McFist Industries, his glimpse from his office floor giving him a well enough view of Norrisville below. There wasn’t much to see, the setting sun being the only true thing worth noting; however, it was enough to block out the rest of the world’s petty annoyances. No smelly old Sorcerer getting on his case, no smart mouthed ninja foiling his plans to kill him, no everyday troubles of balancing evil schemes and a business empire. No stress at all. It was just McFist, the sunset, and his solitude.

Or at least, it would have been if he hadn’t been suddenly jolted out of his own little world and thrusted back to reality by his chair being swiveled around violently-- his eyesight greeted by a facefull of glasses and the glare of a looming agitated scientist.

“You haven’t been paying attention to a SINGLE word I just said,” Viceroy accused angrily, before snapping back up to his full height, crossing his arms against his chest. “ What’s the point of having me explain things to you if you won’t even listen?”

The stouter man shrugged his shoulders as he relaxing back into his chair, the darker man’s anger not even phasing him.

“Pfft, tell me about it. I just sorta thought that was a thing you do: tell long winded boring stories that nobody cares about.”

This earned him a sneer. Viceroy half-turned away from him, his nose in the air.

"Hmph. I was trying to tell you about my latest plan to capture and destroy the ninja. Like you ASKED me to do?"

He gave his boss a side-glare as the shorter man sat up in his chair properly.

"Oooh, yeah, right right. Well, good work, Viceroy! You've really outdone yourself on this one! Yep, we're sure to get that guy this time around!" Mcfist had stood up, and stepped out from behind his desk. Viceroy turned back to him and regarded him suspiciously as his boss stepped towards him.

"Why don't you tell me more about my latest plan tomorrow, hmm?" Mcfist coaxed, placing a big hand on each of his scrawny shoulders, and turning him toward the door. "It's getting late, and Marci's about due home any time now; I should REALLY get dinner started..."

McFist found himself nearly falling over as Viceroy slipped out of his grasp, the scientist sidestepping as he squealed in delight.

“Oooo, dinner-- I am absolutely famished! I could really go for food, myself.”

The older man watched the younger one walk towards the elevator down the hall, momentarily shocked, before he glared and he chased after him.

“Yeah, kinda meant food for ME, Viceroy. ME! As in numero uno, not… Not more than one!”

Viceroy continued happily, completely ignoring his boss’ implications.

“Ya know, it’s been AGES since I’ve cooked for anybody. I think the last time was Easter sunday with mother. Though, you know mothers, they hardly let you actually DO anything for them. So really, I was just stuck with making the salad. A salad, can you believe that? All that money on cooking classes and she had me chopping up lettuce. Technically isn’t even cooking.”

Hannibal McFist was practically gritting his teeth, frustration building up inside him as he was just mere moments away from picking up the scrawny scientist and throwing him out the front door. Just as he was about to start yelling for the geek to just leave already, he was interrupted by Viceroy suddenly turning around again.

“Oh, I just decided what to make. How does breakfast food sound? I KNOW you can’t resist my momma’s secret special pancake recipe.”

"Viceroy, I'm telling you, I- eeeh did you say ‘pancakes’?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Heeey, buddy!" Hannibal clapped Viceroy roughly on the back, causing him to stumble forward. "My home is your home, huh?"

Mcfist flashed his pet scientist a winning grin before grabbing his coat from the corner (summer was on its way, but there was still a nip in the air). He threw it on and headed towards the main doors.

"Just don't be late. Marci HATES that."

She probably didn't.

"Late? I'm ridin' with you." Viceroy replied smugly, following after his boss.  

* * *

 

It didn’t take too long for the two to reach the McFist Mansion, the residence a mere thirty minute limo drive away from town. McFist had gone back to ignoring the scientist, as he rambled on about something or another the whole way over-- and didn’t stop talking until they were already inside the house and hanging up their coats in the coat room. The homeowner found himself sighing contently, his ears finally having a break from all the pointless yammering.

It, however, didn’t last long as Viceroy started speaking again-- this time in a state of disgust.

“Geeze, when was the last time you even had this room cleaned? I swear I see a few generations of dust bunnies in the corners.”

“Oh, great form, Viceroy. Been in my house five minutes and you’re already complaining!” Hannibal growled as he stomped out of the room, his next destination being the kitchen as the other man followed. He continued as he slammed the door shut behind him. “ I’ll just get one of the house-bots to do it later-- unless you want me to make YOU to do it since it’s apparently such a big deal n’ all.”

The darker man wasn’t impressed.

“No, I’m good. It’s your dust, after all. ‘Sides, I got dinner to make.”

Viceroy pushed past him and on into the kitchen, plucking Marci's apron from a hook on the wall, humming cheerfully as he tied it around himself.

"Oh, well, just make yourself at home, why doncha." Mcfist mumbled under his breath. He plopped down in a chair at the kitchen table, and immediately slumped forward, elbows on the surface, head in his hands, Boy, was he bushed! He was actually kind of glad he got out of making dinner that night, but as he watched his hired hand flit around the kitchen, he began to question things he'd never really gave much thought to before.

His thoughts were put on hold as Bash lumbered into the kitchen, stopped, stared at Viceroy (who paid the kid no mind), before yelling:

"MOOOM! THERE'S A CRAZY SCIENCE GUY IN OUR KITCHEN AGAIN! I'LL GET THE BROOM."

The yelling caused Viceroy to spin around with a yelp.

"Uhg! Honestly, Bash, what did I tell you about using your inside voice?"

"Uhh, that I should do it, or somethin’?"

"Yeah, or somethin'. Now, I was invited, but grabbing a broom isn't a bad idea." The scientist turned back to the stove. "This place could use a little sweepin' up."

Bash mumbled a confused "Okay" and left, intending on shirking this duty as well as any homework he might have had that night.

Hannibal watched in awe from the table. Huh! Smart, a good cook, AND good with kids! The guy should be swarming with ladies, not cooking his boss breakfast on a Friday night.

"Hey Viceroy?" he spoke up from across the room.

"Hmm?"

"Have you ever thought of cooking for, say, oh I don't know, a lady friend? Maybe at your house? Hmm?"

Viceroy raised a brow as he began mixing ingredients together, slightly leaning against the counter as they chatted.

“‘Lady friend’? Now why the heck would I want to do that? I don’t even KNOW any women.” He paused momentarily as he mumbled. “Well, besides mother, Ruth and Marci. And Helen in accounting, if robo-apes count.”

“No, robo-apes don’t count,” his boss replied exhaustively. And neither did Ruth, his mother-in-law, if one was asking his real opinion.

McFist sighed. Oh boy, no wonder the geek was having trouble in the lady department. If he thought a big stupid robotic monkey in a wig was anywhere CLOSE to the sweet alluring curves of a woman... well, then he was certainly having some issues that needed sorting out. Which was just sad, if he really thought about it. It wasn’t like Viceroy was getting any younger-- what was he, just a mere five, ten years younger than him? That was nothing in adult years! Soon the poor schmuck would be on the verge of a midlife crisis-- with not even a wife to help him through it!

Hannibal shook his head sadly, his curiosity turning into genuine concern-- even if it was just a small amount of it. Maybe he should think about talking to Marci about this-- surely one of her gal pals were desperate enough to want to even CONSIDER the guy as dating material. And if not them, there had to be some other alternatives. McFist could NOT live the rest of his life stuck with his lackey trying to ambush his weekends!

Meanwhile, Willem Viceroy had went back to focusing on dinner-- the pancakes weren’t going to make themselves, after all. The scientist turned cook had poured the first cup of batter into the frying pan-- giving it a quick glance to check that the flames weren’t too intense before making his way to the fridge to see what else he could serve with them. Grabbing a few more eggs, Viceroy found himself humming in satisfaction as he saw an untouched pack of apple sausage in one of the drawers. It was obvious McFist let his wife handle the grocery list.  Returning to the stove, Viceroy quickly flipped the first pancake over before getting out another pan-- no way was he going to let one of the cakes burn. He’d never hear the end of it, otherwise.

The sound of the front door opening, followed by his wife's voice informing him and Bash that she was home, had Hannibal standing up in a flash.

"Oop! Marci's home!" He stopped and leaned in towards Viceroy at the stove, on his way to the front door. "Don't you worry, Viceroy ol’ pal; you and me are going out one night soon, and finding you a lucky lady to bring home! To your house. Not mine."

Viceroy stared after his boss, as he went to greet his wife. What had THAT all been about? It was almost as if-

"Oh, are you kidding me," he complained to the sausage as it sizzled in the pan. He flipped one angrily. "After all these years, and he has NO idea I'm- I should knock that lughead upside his big stupid head, is what I should do..." By the end, his rant had turned into nothing more than irritated mumbling. One would think in their day and age people would stop being all heteronormative and junk. Always assuming stuff about people. It was annoying was what it was. Viceroy found himself blocking out the conversation he could hear from the hallway as he went back to pouring another cup of batter into the first frying pan. His good spirits were suddenly sunk, and he really wasn’t in the mood to hear the married McFists being all lovey dovey anyway.

Willem scoffed to himself as he tried to imagine what sort of woman the dumb meat head thought he would be into. Probably hadn’t the slightest idea what his type was, and was way more likely to just ask any woman he found on the street than actually put an iota of thought into the matter. As if anybody would do. Ugh. Just the mere thought of how awkward that would be sent an unpleasant shiver down the man’s spine. Really, he was going to have to do something about that-- nip it in the bud before McFist really did try setting him up with some random lady.

Man, he was not looking forward to having that conversation. While Viceroy was fully confident in his sexuality, and had been for years, it was still socially irksome to have to bring up the topic of being gay at all. Stupid McFist, why couldn’t he just figure it all out for himself-- save HIM the trouble of it all!

Viceroy’s eyes widened, as inspiration struck him. Hey, now THERE was an idea. Yes, let HIM figure it out.

“I mean, I’d probably have to make it painfully obvious just for him to even GET it.” A pause as he flipped yet another pancake onto the stack with the others. “But it’s way better than the alternative.”

And with that Viceroy worked on finishing up dinner, as schemes already began to form. Come monday his boss would be more than enlightened.

* * *

 

"...The lab is on fire."

No response.

"We caught the ninja?"

Nothing. Viceroy sighed.

"Is it really too much to ask to-"

"Shhhh!" Mcfist hissed, his eyes still glued to the television screen, situated in his office at McFist Industries. "I am TRYING to watch ‘Heidi at School’!"

"Isn't that a show filled with gossip about a bunch of kids?"

"WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT SHUSHING! She's just getting to the juicy part."

Viceroy rolled his eyes, mumbled to himself, and settled for watching whatever dumb show had his boss so entranced. Well that day had been a total bust for his plan of ‘ improve McFist’s gaydar’. Every time he had a moment alone with him, they had been interrupted by one person or another. Phone calls, Sorcerer gripping at them, malfunctions on the assembly lines-- it just never seemed to end. How was Willem supposed to TRY anything if people just kept getting in the way? And now his boss was preoccupied by some stupid school made production!

The scientist watched the screen lazily as the young ginger haired teen host filled up the monitor-- continuing her reporting.

“And if you thought revealing the mystery in the school’s mystery meat was scandalis, then you are going to just FLIP when I give you this week’s Romance 411: Debbie Kang, our own editor of the NHG-double T-WDPC was caught sneaking off with her biffer in between bells two and three this morning. But don’t worry Principal Slim, they weren’t off playing hooky-- but Kang and Theresa Fowler WERE caught playing tonsil hockey!”

The screen made way to show a really unfocused cell phone snapshot, but even then it wasn’t hard to see the two people in the photo. One being the school reporter, and the other being an obvious feminine body of some purple haired girl. The image then change back to Heidi, with yearbook photos of the two girls to the right of her.

“Sources say this wasn’t the first time Kang has been seen in said compromising positions with the baton twirler.  Other scenes being the library, Norrisville Pet Park, and even a quick make-out session at the movies. So what’s the sitch, guys? New couple of the year, or soon to be DNL (does not last) of the week? Check out the polls to see what your fellow classmates are saying. And with that, this has been H. Wow with today’s gossip. I’m outtie!”

The screen went to the show’s logo before disappearing as the broadcast went off, instead going to a McSquiddles product placement commercial. Viceroy sighed, happy that the teenaged drama was over with, as he turned back to his boss.

“THERE, are you happy now?”

McFist grumbled.

“Not really. Debbie Kang could totally do so much better-- I don’t even know who that Fowler girl _is_!”

 

"Whatever you say." Viceroy mumbled. He began to turn away from the television and HOPEFULLY get back to explaining to McFist just what he'd need to do in order for their newest ninja-thwarting scheme to work, when a commercial advertising an upcoming movie caught his attention.

It seemed like your typical action movie; screeching cars, shooting guns, explosions, and of course snappy and slightly cheesy one-liners. But what really caught Viceroy's eye, was the main protagonist. Sweaty, muscle bound, and maybe not completely his type, but he smirked nevertheless as an idea occurred to him.

"Mm-mm!" he hummed, leaning over McFist's desk, a pleasant smile on his face. His boss glanced back at him, briefly, before his attention was back on the television screen.

"Now that's what I call a hunk and a half!"

McFist used his robotic arm to scratch his head, obviously confused.

“Eh, you mean Chris Rothrock? Isn’t he sorta a C-lister here? I thought he only got the part because his father owned the movie studio, or something.”

The scientist scoffed.

“I wasn’t talking about the villain, I was talking about Lance Martin-- aka Pete Prowess: kicker of butts and stealer of hearts.” Viceroy took off his glasses to clean them, giving an overly dramatic smitten sigh as he hoped his acting was as good as he thought it was. “I wouldn’t mind being alone with him, if ya catch my drift, baby.”

Mcfist snorted, and waved a hand dismissively at the television.

"What, that guy? Pfft. That's not the kind of guy you should be looking up to, Viceroy. Not exactly a great role model, you know?"

The TV was switched off (at long last), and McFist stretched and stood up, wrapping an arm around the scientist, and ignoring the glare he was receiving.

"Excuse me? I was NOT talking about that kind of-"

"Besides, so what if Mr. Muscles makes you look like a soggy twig? You've got the brains! You could think circles around that guy."

"But I'm tryin-"

"Sheesh!" The arm was retracted. "You really need to work on your self esteem, Viceroy, if you're looking up to guys like that." Hannibal was already walking away, and completely missed his hired hand glaring disbelieving holes into the back of his head.

"That is NOT what I said! I SAID-"

"Work on it!"

And with that he was gone from the room, leaving a very frustrated scientist in his wake. Willem straightened himself up, pulling a comb out from his labcoat pocket as he noticed his hair had been untidied from the exchange with his boss. He groaned, it was going to take him forever just to get everything back into place. Running the comb through his thick hair, he mumbled to the empty office.

“Stupid McFist, he’s so oblivious he makes obvious look subtle. Alright, Willem, he ain’t gonna get it with words alone-- it’s time to up your game and put on a REAL show.”

The question was… what to try next?

* * *

 

Wednesday, same week and early morning: Hannibal McFist smiled to himself contently as he walked inside McFist Industries. Filled with caffeine, a warm meal, and kisses from the misses-- it was easy to appreciate the fact that the work week was halfway over. Not that he couldn’t blow the day off whenever he wanted, he was the boss after all; however, there was some satisfaction in getting to yell at his employees and keeping up appearances of being a hard working, dedicated business man.

If only people knew he mostly sat at his desk all day and drew crude doodles of all the people he didn’t like.

The elevator chimed with a seemingly chipper tone as the blonde man made it to the top floor of the building. Hannibal even managed to smile politely at the robo-ape receptionist as he made his way back to his room-- where no doubt his hired help was waiting for him.

“Gooood morning Viceroy,” he sang jovially, eyes closed as he strutted the familiar walk towards his desk. He plopped into his chair, spinning a full three sixty degrees before feeling satisfied that he was good and comfy. McFist continued. “SO, what’s on the agenda today, hmm? Does it involve annihilating the ninja and/or puppy-like in nature?”

"Yes, and yes." Viceroy replied. Hannibal clapped, joyously.

"Oohh! I like ‘and’!"

"I thought you might. And this plan is simple!" the scientist said. "So simple, even you should be able to follow along with it." he added under his breath.

Hannibal watched, for once looking forward to a rundown on a plan, as Viceroy procured a metal stand from the closet. A click of a button from a remote in his hand, and it flickered to life, producing a hologram screen that looked much like a small whiteboard. The hologram showed a crude drawing of a robot. Viceroy pointed to the robot with a short plastic pointer.

"This is a robot. Followin' so far?" he asked, smugly. Alright, so he was still pretty agitated with his boss. But Mcfist didn't seem to notice at all; he just nodded. With another push of a button, the screen changed again, this time to a doodle of five puppies. "And these are cute, innocent puppies."

"Puppies? They look like rats. With horribly deformed heads."

"Just pretend!" Viceroy snapped. "I'm a scientist, not an artist, alright? Now pay attention for two seconds!"

"Fine, sheesh, I'm paying attention." It dully occurred to Mcfist that Viceroy seemed a little on edge lately. And then it was promptly forgotten, as the screen changed again, and Mcfist frowned deeply. The screen showed that same robot, covered in puppies. Hannibal suddenly wasn't sure he was completely thrilled with this idea.

"If the ninja is all about protecting the innocent and whatnot, then he can't hurt puppies. Therefor, my robot will be immune!"

Hannibal stared for a long time, Viceroy stared back. There was a long, awkward silence between them. Finally Mcfist cleared his throat and shattered it.

"Wow, really? Puppy armor, that's uh... huh. Yeah doesn't really seem that thought out, you know? Kinda... not very good, there."

"Guess my mind's been on other things." Viceroy replied, sharply. He stood, arms crossed, glaring accusingly at his boss, waiting. Waiting for his actual plan for the day to kick in. So far, it wasn't looking so good.

The man stood clad in a short sleeved, light pink blouse, brown short-short overalls, purple leggings, and bright pink cowboy boots. A purple plaid scarf hung loosely around his neck. It had been the most stereotypically homosexual getup he had in his closet.

"Ehhh..." Mcfist fumbled, vaguely knowing that look from his wife. "Like what?"

Viceroy’s glare hardened.

“Oh, just personal stuff, I suppose. Nothing you’d care about, apparently.”

Okay, the conversation was REALLY beginning to sound like a silent argument with Marci. One of those ones where he usually forgot something that was important, and if he didn’t solve it he would NOT be sleeping in his bed that night. Not that the scientist had the power to kick him out of his own bed, nor was he married to the guy. And yet… still that same foreboding marital woe hung over his head like a ticking timebomb. The older man pouted slightly, as he stroked his glorious mustache with his robotic hand.

“Uh… am I forgetting something, here? Let me guess, it’s your birthday?”

The darker skinned man gasped in shock.

“You don’t even know when my BIRTHDAY is?!”

Eh, okay, so that was obviously the wrong answer. Alright, Hannibal, gotta save this before it got any worse.

“Whaaat? Of COURSE I know when your birthday is! I can’t know a guy as long as I’ve known you and NOT even remember his birthday… heh. I was… I was just playing around, is all. GEEZE, you need to lighten up and learn to take a JOKE, Viceroy! Stick in the mud really isn’t a good look on you.”

Viceroy sighed, and clicked off the hologram. His boots clacked on the tile floor as he made his way toward Mcfists' desk.

"So you're tellin' me," he reached the desk, and his boss recoiled slightly as he sat on it. "that you don't notice ANYTHING different about me?"

Hannibal made a face when the scientist lifted a foot up and placed that on his desk, too. What was he DOING? Getting his muddy shoes all over his-ohh! Mcfist eyed the boot in front of him, a glint in his eye.

"Oohh! Nice shoes!" without thinking about it, the robo-armed man grabbed for the boot- with Viceroy's foot still inside- and yanked it, causing the scientist to scream and tumble off of the desk.

"Looks a little small, though. These come in, say, a five or six?... Oh, and in men's."

The bruised scientist clambered his way back up the desk, glaring at his boss who was still holding onto his foot. Viceroy was about to snipe at him, when they were interrupted by the phone on the desk going off. McFist blinked slowly, before dropping the foot in his hand as he pushed the speaker button.

“This better be important, Susan: I was just in the process of  getting Viceroy to spill the beans on where he got his sweet shoes!”

A metallic voice replied through the speakers, much more feminine than many of the other robo-apes that worked for him.

“Sorry, Mr. McFist, but I thought I should inform you that you have a Mr. Sorcerer on the line for you. Should I put him through?”

The blond man sighed.

“Of COURSE put him through! I don’t need the guy getting cranky on me.”

“Right away, sir.”

Hannibal, momentarily forgetting about acquiring new footwear,  stood up from behind his desk as he made his way towards the large tube in the middle of the room. Viceroy followed behind him, though rubbing the sore spot on his bottom where he had fallen. He grumbled, not exactly in the mood to get chewed out by some wannabe rotting corpse. Couldn’t he just call back some other time?

Apparently not, as the next moment the tube was filled with the horrible visage of the ancient evil magic wielder. The green demon looked displeased, even more than usual. McFist laughed nervously, as he greeted him.

“Heeeey, Sorcerer, buuuuddy. What, eh… what can I do for you?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb with me you infuriating buffoon-- you KNOW why I’m calling!”

Viceroy scoffed.

“Oh, trust me, he ain’t playing dumb, baby.”

McFist turned around to growl at his hired help, glowering up at him as he caught the meaning of the younger man’s comment. He was about to retort back when the Sorcerer spoke up once more, stealing away his attention.

“What in the WORLD are you wearing?” The demon asked Viceroy, his voice laced with confusion and disgust. The man didn’t get to answer, as his boss squealed happily.

“I know, right? Aren’t those shoes great? I swear I’m not going to sleep until I get a pair!”

The Sorcerer squinted, and wrinkled his lip, exposing a line of mismatched, rotting teeth.

"They look a bit garish if you ask me. But what do I know about fashion; I've been wearing these same old robes for over eight hundred years." he replied, forlornly.

"Eugh." Mcfist made a yuck face.

"Anyway..." the Sorcerer sighed, suddenly put into a melancholy mood, as he'd been reminded just how long he'd been trapped in that hole. "I've noticed a lack of chaos and disdain, that sort of thing, this week. Are you guys even TRYING anymore? Need I remind you fools just WHO you work for?"

"Uh, no!" Mcfist blurted. "Nope, no reminding necessary! In, in fact, Viceroy here," said scientist was grabbed and shoved in front of his boss, like a human shield. "just came up with a brilliant plan! Didn't you, Viceroy?"

"’Brilliant’? I thought you said it was, and I quote, ‘not very good’."

“Ix-nay on that, Viceroy, ix-nay!” The stouter man laughed a bit nervously as he turned back to the unimpressed looking Sorcerer. “That guy, always the kidder! I swear, one of these days his jokes are going to get him in serious trouble.”

Throwing a quick warning glare to the man next to him, McFist was all smiles as he continued.

“Nope, It’s all good here. I can assure you that this plan is one hundred percent ninja-proof. The guy won’t see what’s coming!”

"See to it that he doesn't!" the Sorcerer growled. "I am quickly losing my patience with you two!"

Mcfist let out a hefty sigh of relief when their boss disappeared in a puff of green mist.

Meanwhile, the Sorcerer sat slumped over, his melancholy mood evident. His rat friend patted him, comfortingly, on his knee. The Sorcerer glanced down at it.

"What do you think?" he enquired, opening his arms, and gesturing to his robes. "I still look good, don't I? This outfit was in style a mere eight hundred years ago..."

The rat gave its best smile, a double thumbs up, nodded and squeaked its approval. But the Sorcerer had been alive, or something akin to alive, long enough to know a forced smile and a lie when he saw one. He scowled and went back to pouting.

  
"Oh, what do you know."


	2. Chapter 2

Randy Cunningham stared out of his science classroom windows, far more interested in the dirt stains on the glass than Mrs. Discoll's lecture on the human body. Besides, it had gotten far too  _weird_  when the eccentric teacher began to feel up the remains of her dead husband as she named each bone - and Mr. J's ' _honey, leave that for the bedroom'_  innuendo didn't help the case much either. However, blocking out the no doubt years of therapy left the teen with equally undesirable boredom instead. Randy threw a glance to his side, where his best buddy since  _ever_  was sitting next to him.

"Geeze, can this GET any more boring?"

Randy waited in silence as he was expecting some sort of response in agreement. When he didn't receive one, the purple haired youth blinked slowly as he noted how wide eyed and focused his pal was- the guy just looking straight ahead at Mrs. Discoll at the front of the class. Randy cleared his throat before trying again- this time waving a hand in the chubbier teen's face.

"Yo, earth to Howard, you aren't actually paying attention to all of this, are you? I mean, you don't actually find this COOL,  _or something_?"

Again, nothing. Okay, what the juice was  _up_  with him? Being a good student was not like the redhead at all. Yeah, Howard had told him just that morning that Mr. Weinerman instructed his son to get his grades together if he wanted to go to Whoopee World the following weekend with the taller teen… But Randy never actually thought he'd, ya know… LISTEN!

Cunningham was jolted out of his thoughts as the teen next him to snored, a little bit of drool dribbling out the corner of Howard's mouth.

"Are you… Are you sleeping with your eyes open?!" Randy flinched away, disgusted. "Oh man,  _how the heck do you DO that_? THAT'S TEN LEVELS OF SHNASTY!"

His miniature outburst wasn't enough to awaken his pal, but it had been enough to call the attention of the teacher.

"Mister Cunningham, if you're so keen on interrupting class, maybe you'd like to take it from here? Come on! Get up here!" She urged, cheerfully, almost as if she were calling a dog.

Randy made no attempt to get out of his chair, but instead smiled nervously, apologetically, and offered a half shrug.

"Nah, I'm good. Just uh. Yeah I'll be quiet." he slunk down behind his text book as a couple other students snickered.

The teacher shook her head. Disappointed, but not surprised. "Honestly, Randy, you could learn a thing or two about paying attention from Mister Weinerman over there. So rapt and ready to learn!"

Randy glanced back over at Howard. A strand of slobber trailed down his chin.

_"Riiiight."_

The intercom crackled to life mere seconds before the whole building shook, and an echoing footfall rumbled in the distance. It was Mr. Slimovitz on the intercom.

"Students and staff, it's Mr. Slimovitz here, and I'm afraid I'm feeling a bit conflicted. On one hand, I think I may have wet myself in terror at the gigantic robot of doom and destruction headed this way... buuut, on the other hand, it's covered in adorable widdle puppies!"

The principal paused to clear his throat and collect himself.

"Right. Adorable, but still dangerous. So let's all hide under our desks, and wait for the Ninja to save the day, okay? Okay!"

Slimovitz spoke with the twittery, cheerful tone of a man who had seen one too many horrible abominations in his career as principal of the seemingly cursed school.

Before Mrs. Discoll's class could follow code M safety measures, someone screamed out in terror as a car came tumbling straight for the classroom windows. Glass was shattered and children ran in alarm as they did their best to dodge the debris of what was left of Principal Slimovitz' car. Acting on instinct, Randy grabbed onto Howard's collar as he ducked under the table- a shard just barely missing the redhead's face. The chubbier friend jolted awake, eyes wide as he tried to remember where he was.

"Hamannah, w-what, where-" Howard glared as he noticed Randy, most likely the culprit of why the teen was no longer dreaming about steamy make-outs with a giant three-layered burrito. "What the  _juice_ , Cunningham?! I was THIS CLOSE to getting to the beefy part!"

"Aww, I'm sorry Sleepy Beauty," Randy mocked, "didn't mean to wake you up from your nap. I just thought you'd like to, ya know, NOT GET HURT BY THE FLYING CAR THAT JUST SMASHED THE WINDOW!"

"'Flying car'? What flying car?" Howard peeked from under the table, as the remaining students fled the room. He was just in time to see the left hubcap of the front of the vehicle clatter to the ground. The redhead chuckled. "Oh, heh, THAT car. WELL, don't just sit there like a giant shoob! Isn't this when you're supposed to go all lame and shout 'it's ninja o'clock'?"

"Dude, why ya gotta call it 'lame' though?" Randy sighed, taking out his mask from his back pocket. "But yeeeeah, IT'S NINJA O'CLOCK!"

Roughly a minute and a half later, the robot spun around to face the ninja that poofed in on the lawn behind it. Hulking and vaguely rat-like in form, its coat was alive as it was made up of panting, whining, squirming puppies. The ninja gave it a quizzical look.

"Puppy armor?" he stated, incredulously. "Thaaat doesn't seem very thought out."

"THAT'S WHAT I SAID!" bellowed Mcfist, as he and Viceroy watched on their screen from miles away.

Back on the lawn, the robot let out a metallic roar and charged. On instinct, the ninja leapt, launching himself at the beasts' head, sword at the ready- and fumbled at the last second, as his eyes met with the terrified eyes of the defenceless puppy he'd almost impaled. He managed to find footing enough to land safely, between the mechanical rodent's ears, stumbling again when he accidentally stepped on a puppy ear, and it yipped at him piteously.

"Aww, no no, don't cry! I didn't mean to step on you, little guy!"

The puppies around him all cried out louder, they all were scared and had no clue what was going on. The Ninja felt his heart breaking in two as he tried to assure them of their safety.

"It's okay, I'm not gonna hurt any of you. Just… Just how the heck am I going to do that AND destroy McFist's robot at the same time?!"

It was at that moment a familiar warm heat and vibration could be felt from inside Randy's suit. The teen moaned in frustration.

"Kinda in the MIDDLE of something, Nomicon. Can this wait until, like, LATER?"

The ninja nomicon hummed louder as it indicated that, no, it could not wait. Realizing that the book was most likely offering help to his current situation, the Ninja threw down a smoke bomb as he poofed into the nearest bushes. Feeling momentarily safe, Randy cracked open the book as he whispered to it.

"Okay, I'm listening, whatcha got for me?"

And with that Randy could feel himself shooping, as he lost consciousness and his mind went into the ancient text. The teen felt his stomach drop as he fell through the darkness, before the Nomicon finally slowed him down as it displayed a scene. On the ground was a very cartoony looking ninja looking quizzically at a stream full of fast moving rapids. Looking around himself, the drawing jumped ecstatically before he began building himself a small raft. Pleased with all his hard work, the fake ninja pushed the raft into the water, hopping on as he was prepared to use a giant stick to push himself to the other side. The ninja didn't even get halfway across before the raft broke apart, the drawing falling into the river and getting lost in the current- only to pass a bridge a few yards down, which had previously gone unnoticed.

It was then that the Nomicon began to scribble out its words of wisdom. Randy read on in confusion.

"' _Sometimes the biggest problem has the simplest solution'_? Uh, I think you're confused here. I'm not TRYING to cross a river- i'm trying to save some innocent puppies! If i'm in need of some wading, I'll remember this 'lesson' when I cross that bridge." The teen's eyes opened wide as he had just realized the pun he made, as he began to cackle. "Oh, OH THAT WAS A GOOD ONE! That wasn't even on PURPOSE that time! Up top, Nomicon, you KNOW you thought that was funny."

The ancient text was apparently not as impressed as instead of returning the purple haired youth's high five, it dropped Randy into the rapids with the other ninja. Cunningham gasped for air as he was suddenly worried of drowning, only to find himself out of the book once more.

"Sheesh,  _somebody_  needs to work on their sense of humor-  _and it sure as heck ain't me_."

The precious book was tucked away, and the nimble ninja leapt to his feet- sword at the ready, and then not. He lowered his sword and watched as the monster slashed at trees and buildings, seeming infuriated that it had lost its target.

"How am I supposed to fight this thing?" he asked himself out loud. Said thing roared again, and the sound was horrible, but at least it had drown out the heart wrenching cries of its fuzzy armor.

Well, he wasn't going to accomplish anything by standing in the shadows and watching it destroy the school. The ninja stepped out of the bushes and promptly fell on his face. He craned his neck around to see a piece of thin wooden debris stuck to the bottom of his foot.

"What the juice?" He attempted to pry it loose, but it wouldn't budge. "Aw come on!" It was then he caught a whiff of the stuff adhering it to his foot, and his stomach lurched.

"Uhg! I'd know that shnasty funk anywhere!" Que flashback of the time his sixth grade science project, carefully constructed with wood, craft foam, and a whole lot of Mcfist Ultra Sticky Glue, had fallen to pieces the moment Bash had slapped it out of his hands and into a nearby puddle.

"Man, that day was SO not the cheese! Stupid water instantly made my project fall apa-"

Suddenly Randy's vision was flooded by scribbles as it led his gaze towards the robot. Arrows with words like 'stuck', 'glue', and 'wet' were directed at the living armor, which was quickly followed by what the Nomicon had told him earlier: " _Sometimes the biggest problem has the simplest solution"._ The Ninja's eyes opened widely as it dawned on him what he had to do.

"McFist Ultra Sticky Glue instantly dissolves in water! I just have to get the robot wet and the puppies will just fall off."

Now, to get close enough so he could do just that. It was with another smoke bomb that Randy poofed behind the giant rodent looking monstrosity, as said robot was still tearing the place apart looking for him.

"Yo big n' ugly, " he mocked, getting its attention, " didn't anybody ever teach you not to break what doesn't belong to you? Really, you'd think Viceroy would program you with some man- WOAH!" The teen hero had to quickly duck as the robot threw a piece of the school building at him. "Okay, less talky and more smashy. Let's dance!"

And with that the Ninja charged at the puppy covered machine, ducking and dodging everything that the robot threw at him. When he was close enough range, Randy used the arm that was thrusted at him to spring off of- backflipping and gaining air. It was once in the air that the lanky teen swiftly maneuvered his hands as he unleashed his surprise attack.

"Ninja hydro hand!"

Fifteen minutes later, the school's lawn was littered with debris, a smoking, decapitated robot, and hundreds of cranky puppies. Students and faculty alike worked together to round up the wriggling balls of cute, and make sure they were okay.

On the other side of town, back at McFist Industries, the evil duo watched as communications cut off. Silence hung between them before the stout one of the pair cleared his throat.

"Well... that could have gone... worse?" Mcfist pointed out, with a shrug. He hadn't expected that to go well, anyway. "At least the puppies are okay! ... Aren't they? Viceroy?"

Viceroy sat across the room, rubbing his temples as he nursed an oncoming headache.

"They're fine." he replied, his tone conveying exhaustion. The feed was cut off the moment the robot's head had been, but there was no way the ninja would have let harm come to innocent puppies. Their whole plan had ridden on that, after all.

Mcfist merely whimpered, and continued to stare up at the static filled screen. Viceroy sighed, and closed his eyes.

"You wanna go check and see, don't you?"

"Oh good, you read my mind!" Hannibal instantly perked up, as he slapped the scientist next to him jovially on the back. "So how 'bout you tell the driver to get the limo started, ey? We'll just head towards the school now and take care of all the cute little critters before anybody else thinks about adopting them."

Viceroy raised a brow.

"Uh, are you forgetting that Marci would NEVER let you keep them? You're  _allergic_  to dogs."

"Sorry, what was that? Not really paying attention to what you're saying, too busy thinking of names. How does Maximilian sound for one? Bruce? Ooo, and maybe Sugar if one of them's a girl."

The scientist sighed.

"I'll go make that phone call."

* * *

 

Friday, the last day of the work week and exactly seven days since Willem Viceroy the Third had discovered his boss was ignorant of the fact he was homosexual- and was planning on setting him up with a 'lady friend'. While plans to get McFist to discover his orientation had been going right over the man's head all week, this time the scientist had something that was BOUND to work. After the extravagant failure of Thursday's robot, Willem had begun to believe that nothing was going to get through the older man's thick skull. However, as the limo made their way towards the school to 'rescue' the puppies, a certain building in town caught Viceroy's eye. He had giggled to himself as his idea started to form.

The plan was foolproof.

While Mcfist giggled as he played with his new puppy- encased in a large hamster ball to avoid allergy problems- Viceroy stood around the corner, steeling himself for the upcoming epiphany he HOPED was about to befall him boss. He exhaled deeply, and stepped out, walking casually past the overgrown manchild and his panting puppy ball. He let the small, laminated, and cleverly fake membership card slip carelessly from his hand, and it came to a stop in front of Hannibal.

"What's this? You dropped something." Mcfist snatched it up, and Viceroy practically squealed in excitement- it was working! He began to rub his hands together, and make a noise that was somewhere between a giggle and a cackle. He stopped when he noticed both Mcfist and the puppy were giving him a look.

"We're like a foot away, man. You're weirding out the puppy." Mcfist scolded. The dog whimpered and peed a little.

"Oh, just read it already."

"I'm going to! Because I'm curious! Not because you told me to. ... 'Honey Buns', huh? What's that, some kinda bakery?"

The taller man snorted.

"Well, they  _do_  have plenty of hot buns- but no, they're not a bakery. That's a membership card to a club with the most erotic male dancers in all of Norrisville."

"'Erotic male dancers'?" Viceroy could see the gears trying to turn in Hannibal's head as he tried to figure out the meaning of the phrase. "You mean like  _strippers_?"

"Yes."

"That work in some seedy strip joint?"

" _Yes._ "

"And they're all sweaty practically naked men, who are taking their clothes off for oodles of dough?"

Viceroy smiled widely, as his boss was putting the pieces together on his own.

"YES! That's exactly what Honey Buns is all about, baby."

McFist was silent as he stared at the card.

"Eh, and you have this because…?"

"Because I am a member." Viceroy enunciated each word carefully and boldly, this question he was fine with giving to the man. At least he was trying.

The grin that slid across Mcfist's face was unexpected, but not unappreciated. At first. The slap on the back, he could have done without.

"Ha HA! Viceroy, you 'ol dog, you!" his boss threw in a wink, and he would have been lying to himself if he had said that hadn't made him mildly uncomfortable.

"Eh heh. Yeah, that's me. So you get it got it good?" He'd put up with Hannibal's strange reaction to the situation, if it meant it was finally over.

"You bet I do! Boy, Viceroy, I underestimated you! You're one step ahead of me! I mean, I was just gonna take you to some bar, but a place like this?" he held up the card he still had captive. "It must be CRAWLING with ladies looking for a... er, date."

"You were planning on taking me to a bar," the scientist asked in mild horror- just imagining himself surrounded by big burly men that wanted to do nothing more than get drunk and talk about sports he didn't care about. He paused that train of thought for a moment as something more pressing dawned on him. " Wait, better question: you're planning on taking me to a  _STRIP CLUB?!_ "

"Sure, why not?" McFist said with a shrug. " I mean, uh, not exactly my kind of hang out- being a married man and all. But I'm sure Marci would understand for the good of the cause."

Viceroy was mortified as he tried to talk his way out of it.

"But-"

"And heck, look at the time! Place should be open right about now anyway."

"But sir, I REALLY don't-"

McFist continued on talking, completely ignoring his hired help.

"I'll just give the ol' misses a call and tell her I'll be playing wingman tonight. If we go now, we might even be able to pick up some McSliders on the way." The stout man made his way towards his desk where he picked up his phone, ready to call up his wife. He paused, as he used his other hand to give the scientist a thumbs up. "Don't worry, buddy, we're SURE to get you a pretty little lady!"

"But I don't WANT a pretty little lady!" Viceroy shouted suddenly, punctuating the word "want" with an indignant stomp of his foot. Mcfist raised a brow.

"Oh? You're into the thicker gals, huh? Alright, fine! We'll supersize that order for ya.- Oh! Hello Marci dear..."

The scientist cooled down slightly as the conversation between Mcfist and his wife went on from seemingly miles away. He decided it was pointless trying to argue with this man. Besides, maybe it wouldn't be so bad! He'd have a whole night to get his point across, and what better a place than a joint filled with flaming, scantily clad men...

Viceroy shuddered with mild dread. On second thought, maybe he'd get away with hiding in the rest room most of the night.

* * *

 

Honey Buns looked far more intimidating at night than it did during the day. Though, that could have easily been because when Willem had originally looked over the place and began to scheme, he never dreamt he'd have to  _actually go inside_. Viceroy gulped as he felt like a deer in the headlights of the club's rainbow neon sign. Oh, this had been a terrible mistake. 'A member of a strip club', what HAD the man been thinking? He could barely stand looking at himself undressed, let alone anyone else. And now he would be forced to spend a few hours doing nothing but look at nearly naked men.

That was when McFist wasn't busy trying to hook him up with women that came to enjoy the show.

Viceroy, weak in the knees, had to be escorted into the building by the ever oblivious boss of his. When they had reached the entrance where the bouncer was checking IDs, the geek prayed to every father of the enlightenment period that he would spot the phoney card and turn them away- maybe even banning them from ever returning again. Unfortunately, Viceroy was not that lucky; the bouncer had barely even  _looked_  at the card before clearing them to enter.

The inside seemed to also sport the same theme of rainbow lighting, as each section was lit up by different sets of colors. The walls a mustard yellow, the booths a cool blue, and naturally the stage dead center of the place a very steamy red. Viceroy let out a sigh as the stouter man dragged him to a booth section- he didn't know if his heart had it in him to sit so close to the action.

Moments after they were seated, a young man in rather short shorts and a tank top sidled up to their table, and regarded them, tiredly.

"Welcome to Honey Buns- say, I don't think I've seen you two studs here before! Mister Mcfist..." the man paused, his eyes taking a cautionary look around before he continued in a hushed tone.

"Does your wife know?"

Viceroy's mouth hung open- he hadn't even considered what people might assume about the man, being seen in a place like this. Oh well! That wasn't Viceroy's problem.

"Hmph. Serves him right." The scientist muttered to himself.

However, Mcfist just waved a hand. "What, Marci? Yeah, yeah, she knows all about it. Hey uh, can we get a couple of beers over here?"

"My, what a very open relationship you must have." The waiter's smile returned to his face as he continued to talk. "But yes, beers it is. For the both of you, I assume?"

"Actually,"Viceroy interjected as he adjusted his glasses, "that would just be for him. A water with lemon for me, thanks."

Lord knew he would not be able to survive the night if he got even the tiniest bit tipsy. It usually just took one drink in him before he started feeling its effects. Really, the scientist needed to think about developing a suppressant so he could drink with people without feeling it in the morning. Not to mention the embarrassment when his lips got a little too loose for comfort.

The waiter, however, wasn't too bothered by it. Everybody had their own ways of enjoying their night after all. The lanky man flipped his ponytail out of the way as he jot down the order.

"Alright, beer and water. Be back in a minute, huns."

Mcfist grinned as the man sauntered away.

"He seemed like a nice man." After a short pause, he leaned over the table and added, in a hushed tone, "Between you and me, I think he might be gay."

Several different emotions whizzed through Viceroy's mind at that moment; shock, then fury, then dawning realization as a makeshift plan formed.

"Oh, you think so? Maybe I should call him back over here and get his number, then...?"

"Viceroy!" Mcfist hissed so harshly that the scientist almost flinched. "You'd call up a poor, innocent man to rag on him about his personal preferences? Seriously, you can be really insensitive sometimes."

Viceroy's tongue was spring loaded to launch into a sassy retort, when his boss nearly poked out his eye when he pointed excitedly over his right shoulder.

"Oh! Hey Viceroy, how about that cutie, huh? The one in the corner, sipping a martini."

Heaven only knew what caused Viceroy to actually look. The woman in question was undeniably pretty, he didn't have to be straight to appreciate the way her hair fitted and formed attractively around her round face. Nor the way her top showed off all the right curves and was pleasing to the eyes. But it was the same appreciation he had for looking at art or knowing what shoes went well with his outfits; that was all. Still, that didn't mean he felt the need to  _talk_  to her either.

Even  _if_  the scientist was curious about the products she used for her hair.

"HEY!" Viceroy whipped back around to gawk at Mcfist, disbelievingly as he called out across the room. He was waving to the woman, too. "HEY BEAUTIFUL! LOOKIN' FOR A DATE TONIGHT? AAAH?"

Viceroy groaned and slid as far as he could down into his seat. He perked up momentarily when his boss began to groan.

"Aww, she's pointing to a wedding ring. Sorry buddy, guess this one's already accounted for."

'Thank heavens.' The lankier man thought as he slid up from his seat- he didn't want to hurt his back sitting in that awkward position. Maybe his luck was beginning to turn around after all. Maybe nobody would be interest and McFist would decide to pack up and go home.

"Oooo, there's a nice redhead over there!"

Or maybe the balding idiot would try pointing out every woman in the club. Viceroy found himself letting out a sigh of relief when the waiter finally returned with their drinks- momentarily distracting the older man.

Viceroy clutched the cool glass in his hands, his eyes darting around the room. Maybe he could slip away before the show started. Maybe he could even fake being sick, and McFist would take him home.

"Where're you going?" his boss asked when he slipped out of his chair.

"The little gentleman's room, if that's okay with you." came his sassy retort.

"Alright, fine, fine, but hurry back! I think that little lady in the corner has her eye on you."

Viceroy quickly scurried away, not even sure which direction the bathroom was. Navigating through the people that were up and moving around, his head began to ache the closer he got to where he assumed the speakers to be- the Electro music blaring. Finally he found the restroom and escaped inside, happy to find the place completely empty. Viceroy made his way towards the sink, where he took off his glasses and turned the tap on to splash his face. The crisp water was refreshing, and really jolted himself out of his nerves.

"Alright, Willem," he said to his blurry reflection, preparing the next plan of defense. " What you need to do is see if this place has a back door or somethin' and just leave. Sneak out, go home, and deal with McFist's idiocy in the morning. It's not failure if it's a strategic retreat, baby."

Wiping off his face with a paper towel and putting on his glasses once more, Viceroy smiled at his reflection. It felt good to know that the scrawny man was just moments away from freedom and escaping the whole disaster entirely- with little embarrassment to spare. And it was with that, Willem peeked his head out of the bathroom- quickly making sure his boss wasn't around- before walking out and heading towards where he assumed was the most logical place for an exit to be- towards the far back, just right past the stage.

A large, heavy looking door loomed ahead, and Viceroy made a break for it, sprinting down the short hallway, and bursting through the door.

Instead of a face full of fresh air, his senses were assaulted by enough perfumes and hair product fumes to make his eyes water. He coughed and realized he was in a dressing room.

"Whoops. Guess I made a wrong turn.' he muttered to the empty room, and turned to leave- only for the door to open back up, his escape now blocked by a rather short woman wearing far too much make up.

"Oh!" The woman croaked, in the voice of someone who smoked three to five packs of cigarettes a day. "Look who finally decided to show up!"

Viceroy backed up a step without even realizing it.

"Excuse me?"

'Yeah, sure, you're excused, hun. But only because you're such a cutie." The scientist frowned deeply as the woman winked at him. He just wanted to go home. The woman seemed to be looking him up and down.

"A doctor, huh? That's a new one. At least you have more to take off than the fireman we had last week."

That was when it dawned on the man that this strange woman thought HE was the night's entertainment. Viceroy's eyes opened widely, as he tried to correct her assumptions.

"Actually, I just came back here to-"

"Oh shoot," the croaky voiced woman interjected as she looked at the time on her phone, " sorry, hun, we don't got time to chit-chat. We need ya on stage, like, now. The crowd's gettin' restless."

"I, no, but you don't understand! I'm not-"

Viceroy didn't get to finish his explanation as his wrist was grabbed by the surprisingly strong grip of the older club manager. He yelped as he was dragged from the dressing room, and back towards the darker area of the main club floor. He gulped as he found himself pushed onto the red lit stage, nearly tripping up the stairs. The scientist felt himself freeze up in horror when the club suddenly went silent, all eyes on him. There was a crackling of a mic coming to life as a new voice broke the silence.

"Hello girls, anybody feeling a little feverish in the house? Don't worry, tonight's special entertainer is  _sure_  to relieve the cause-  _but hopefully not the symptoms_. The doctor is ready to see you now!"

This was a dream, wasn't it? One of those vivid nightmares, yeah. It had to be. This stuff didn't happen in real life!

At least that's what Viceroy's panicked mind was telling itself. And it seemed plausible, what with those colorful lights swirling about. And the music, the voices, they were muffled, like he was hearing it through a head full of cotton. The room, which had turned into a surreal, smeary blur, soon vanished behind rapidly expanding blots of black.

Perhaps ironically, Viceroy's last thought before passing out was:

_"Time to wake up."_


	3. Chapter 3

To say that it hadn't been Viceroy's night would have been the biggest of understatements. It was around six in the morning when the scientist trudged into his apartment- his body ready to collapse at any moment as he just let his keys fall to the ground. He made it as far as the couch before he flopped down, face first, not even caring if the cushions were suffocating him. Viceroy screamed into the padding, letting his full frustrations out on the innocent cushion.

It had been one of the worst nights the lanky man had experienced in a long time. After passing out on stage, Willem had woken to a crowd of people hovering over him. It was an onslaught of questions, one after the over that he didn't even have time to answer before more were thrown at him. He had felt dizzy and claustrophobic, and he kept reassuring them he would be fine- just in need of some fresh air. Unfortunately for him, neither his boss- who of course had still been there, though slightly more agitated than concerned, he noted- or the rest of the crowd would let him be. And the next thing he knew, he found himself dragged off to the emergency room to waste nine hours of constantly telling the doctors 'I'm fine.' It had only made him all the more frustrated when that was exactly what they ended up telling him in the end.

A familiar and welcome series of beeps convinced him to unbury his face and turn over, drawing his knees to his chest, and reaching out to gently grab the floating ball of lovable metal.

"Oh Otto," Viceroy sniffed, hugging his beloved robo buddy to his chest. "I had the WORST night. McFist dragged me to a strip club... A STRIP CLUB! I don't really remember the details. I think I ended up on stage somehow, and passed out..."

Viceroy trailed off there, allowing the room's silence fill in the blanks. After a short pause, Otto beeped again. The scientist held the bot out at arms length, and gave him a look.

"I can't just tell 'im! ... Can I?"

Otto responded with a whistling noise.

The scientist momentarily thought it over. Would it have just been easier by that point to just go out and say it? The week alone certainly had been beyond frustrating, not to mention the night's fiasco being the most embarrassing situation he had been in to date. But then Viceroy's pride began to kick in as he thought of the fact that just telling McFist he was the gayest gay to ever gay would be the equivalent of giving up. It was like saying "Willem, you are not smart enough to figure out the problem". And he just couldn't allow himself to  _do_  that.

"No," Viceroy said, a steely look of determination in his eyes, "thanks for the advice, Otto, but that's a no go. I am NOT going to let McFist get the best of me. I'd rather die first!"

The bot chattered again, indicating that there was a great percentage of that being an actual possibility. The scientist grumbled.

"Thanks for the load of confidence."

* * *

 

He had been staring at the same schematic for an hour now. He might as well have been staring at a page written in a foreign language, rather than his own plans he'd done up merely a week before. A note on the side he'd scribbled to himself read: "Galvanized steel plating = sword proof?" Had he tried that already? It seemed too obvious to be a new idea...

Viceroy had never had this much trouble focusing on his work before, but then again, he'd never felt so defeated by such a simple concept, either. He glared at the unassuming paper on the desk in front of him.

"I NEED to stop thinking about this." he told it. "Why does it matter so much? So what if my own boss doesn't know a single important thing about me? It's none of his business, anyway!"

Except it did matter. It mattered to him that he had dedicated so many years of his life to McFist, in both a work and personal sense, and made it a habit to learn and memorize everything he could about the man… And yet there he was, with hardly even a fraction of the effort in return. Viceroy knew the idiot was his boss, knew he was just one worker in a whole body of a corporate empire; but, darn it, he THOUGHT they were friends on some level!

Willem found himself growling as he swiped his hand across his workspace, sending papers and utensils flying.

"That's it," the scientist cried, as he thrust himself out of his chair and stormed his way towards the door, "this apartment is becoming suffocating- I need some fresh air, and stat!"

* * *

 

Howard really wished Cunningham would hurry up.

They had planned to meet at the Game Hole... right after Randy took care of "some ninja business". Whatever that meant. There were no monster to watch him clobber that time, so Howard had decided to go on ahead and wait- and was now mildly regretting said decision.

Normally Howard wouldn't bat an eye at seeing McFists' hired hand there, but he just so happened to remember the last time the scientist was in here looking so distraught...

Everyone knew that the Game Hole had the best slushies in town, so it was no surprise that Viceroy found himself there, fuming in the corner, sipping an ice cold cherry beverage. No surprise to him, anyway; he earned a few sideways glances for being the only present adult without a child accompanying them. Not that he paid them any mind.

Not until one of them plopped themselves down in the chair across from him, anyway. Viceroy glanced up to fix the kid with a steely glare, and said nothing.

"Alright, what's up?" the kid questioned. He made it clear with his tone that he was asking purely out of some sense of obligation. "Your little robo guy didn't go missing again, did he?"

It was then that recognition dawned on the mopey scientist.

"Oh, you're the kid from  _last_  time." Viceroy waved the redhead off as he turned to his side, bringing his slurpee close to his mouth to prepare for another sip. "No, Otto's fine. Probably at home watching his soaps again."

"Then what the juice is your problem? You're sitting over here acting like No-Friendo just announced they won't be making anymore 'Grave Puncher' games." There was pause as the chubby kid shivered, before he continued once more. "Woah, just imagining it freaked  _myself_  out!"

Willem scoffed before smiling smugly.

" _Please_ , ain't  _no way_  they're cancelling their highest grossing franchise, baby. Especially not after  _just_  payin' the beta testers to work on GP 12."

"No honkin' way!" Howard was now leaning over the table, eyes sparkling.

"But you didn't hear that from me."

"Wait, wait, wait." Howard sat back down, shields already up. "How would you even know something like that?" He challenged, and crossed his arms over his chest.

His eyes widened and his mouth fell agape when Viceroy flashed his Official Beta Tester card. It was quickly yanked away when Howard reached a hand out to touch the Godlike artifact. Howard shook his head violently to bring himself around. He took a deep breath.

"How do I get that job and when can I start?" he said in one exhale.

"Being eighteen plus for one, not to mention even a basic background in programing and/or the right connections." The scientist took a smug sip of his slurpee. "Sorry kid, looks like you're out of luck for a while."

"Only for four more years! That's practically an adult already!"

" _Riiiight._ "

Howard Weinerman sat back down in his seat, grumpily crossing his arms against his girth. That was the way with grown ups, always looking down on teenagers because they had 'experience' and junk. Well guess what, buddy, this 'kid' has seen some things as well and was just as good as any like the scientist had. Speaking of the scientist, Howard raised a brow as he noticed the guy growing silent again- a far away look on his face. If Viceroy had been drooling, the teen would almost compare it to all the times Randy had shooped on him in the middle of a conversation. As if he wasn't there at all.

Yeah, something was seriously bothering him. He wondered what, though. What in the world could a guy like him have to be bothered with, when he worked for like the brucest company ever?! Viceroy gets to be the first to touch and use all the McFist products before anybody else could… though notably because he was the guy making half of the products, huh? Maybe it sort of loses its appeal when you're the one building all the stuff. Not to mention probably getting yelled at by his boss if something doesn't work right away, and then the whole deal with him helping to destroy the ninja…

"Oooh," Howard finally uttered, as he put the pieces together, "it has something to do with McFist, doesn't it?"

"Doesn't it always?"

The slushie was slammed down with such force, some of it sloshed out onto the table. Howard stared at it, wide eyed and silent. His eyes darted back up to Viceroy.

"Yeeeaaah... working for that guy must be the worst, am I right?"

He was getting bored, but what else was he supposed to do while he waited for Randy?

"Oh, you don't know the half of it!" Viceroy was yelling too loudly now, and he didn't care. "That big meathead never listens to a word I say! And after knowin' the guy for fifteen years, you think he'd remember a few things about me, right? Nuh-uh. Jerk doesn't even know when my birthday is."

When the scientist paused in his rant and glanced at the kid, he was just finishing up a hotdog, and had started on a second one.

"Where did you get that?" Viceroy asked, pointing, his rage momentarily glossed over by confusion.

"Umph? Oh! Sorry. I grabbed a snack while you were rambling. Did you want one?" he asked through a mouthful of food. He swallowed and laughed. "Haha, just kidding! I only had enough for me."

Viceroy stared at the kid, blankly, for a few moments. Finally, he got up, and shrugged. "I ain't even mad." And made his way to leave.

Howard merely shrugged as he took another noisy bite of his dog. He watched the scientist head towards the door, where he perked up as his best bro entered as the nerd was leaving. Randy side-eyed the lanky man as he walked down the block, before entering the Game Hole himself. It wasn't hard to spot Howard nomming away at the booth where Viceroy had abandoned.

"Dude, was that Viceroy?" Randy slid into the booth, still perturbed by what he saw.

Howard shrugged.

"A lot of weird stuff goes down when you're late, Cunnigham.  _A lot. Of weird stuff_."

* * *

 

Monday rolled around a lot faster than usual for Willem Viceroy the Third. While trying to work and scheme had been its own little torture, the fact the start of the week had been looming over his head made it speed by before he could even settle on anything. And there was no way he had slept that Sunday night- how could he when his nerves and frustrations kept at him like an itch that needed to be scratched. When his mind had went and calmed itself, he found himself picking at the same topics all over again- setting him back to square one.

It was around noon that Viceroy felt himself writing the same three numbers over and over again all over his schematics- before his brain even picked up something wasn't right. He didn't bother turning around when he heard the door open and close. Maybe if Viceroy ignored him, he'd go away.

McFist stood behind his scientist for a few moments, and when he realized he wasn't going to greet him, he cleared his throat. Viceroy only "hmph"ed in reply, but he was undeterred.

"Hey there, Viceroy, buddy 'ol pal! Workin' hard I see! I like that."

Willem mumbled something in reply; but nothing that could be picked up as words. The blond man continued.

"Yeah... so! You busy this weekend?"

Viceroy spun around so quickly, that McFist actually took a step back. The look in the scientist's eyes spoke volumes of fear.

"NO!" Viceroy yelled. "I mean, yes! I'm busy. NO, I do NOT wanna be dragged off to some strip club again!"

The stout man glared, placing his hands on his hips.

"Geeze, Viceroy, I wasn't even going to suggest that. Not after that big scene you caused LAST time." His grumpy frown deepened. "Seriously, nobody likes spending NINE HOURS at the hospital- there were SICK PEOPLE there!"

"Uh,  _I_ was there for nine hours;  _you_  were there for two."

McFist waved the scientist off.

"Eh,  _details details_. We're both in agreement on the 'no strip joints', anyhow. No, that's not why I'm asking. I just wanted to see if you're free for dinner on Saturday. Free food- what'dya say,  _hmm_?"

Viceroy crossed his legs in his seat, chair creaking as he leaned back and raised a suspicious brow.

"I say: ' _what's the catch?_ '"

"What, catch- there's no catch!" When Viceroy just continued to stare at him, it became evident that the fib had not been bought. McFist sighed.

"Ehhhh alright, fine. We kinda had this big double date all planned out; Marci and me, of course, and one of Marci's friends and some guy. But then Mister Some Guy dropped out and now Marci's friend- what was it, Veronica, Betty, something- needs a date. And I kiiiinda told Marci I'd bring someone, and, uh, well: are you seeing my predicament here?"

McFist took another step back when the taller man stood up out of his chair and glared icicles into his soul. Viceroy was scary when he was angry.

"Oh no you did not!" Viceroy snapped. Although it was anger that made its presence known in his voice, anger was far from all he was feeling at that moment. Panic, hurt, and frustration rounded off the tornado of mental torment the man was trapped inside. "I can't believe you would go behind my back and try settin' me up on another date! Oh wait, yes I can."

It was McFist's turn to be angry as he gotten over his initial startlement.

"Wow, way to be grateful. I  _thought_  I was doing ya a favor. Thought maybe you were lonely or whatever, and might like a nice gal to keep you company!"

"No wonder you're so wrong, " Viceroy snapped, " thinkin' was never your strong suit.  _Maybe_ you'd know what i'd want if you paid more attention to me-"

" _Oh_ , there we go again! Back to that same dumb argument! What does that have to do with anything? I pay attention t'ya plenty, and you know it!"

What did that have to do with anything? It had everything to do with everything! Willem loomed over his boss, his resentment for the man overpowering the fact that McFist could easily hurt him if he pleased. The scientist sneered, looking down on McFist both figuratively and literally.

" _Oh really_ , when's my birthday?"

McFist stiffened.

"It's… um, well,  _you see_ -"

Viceroy interrupted, not letting the man go on.

"Uh huh, and what's my favorite flavor of ice cream?"

" _What type of weird question-_ "

"How do I drink my coffee? Sugar? Cream? Who's my favorite mascot? What's my favorite color?"

" _Woah, woah, WOAH_ ," McFist cried out, putting his hands up in defense. "Slow down there, you're asking too many questions!"

Viceroy's glare hardened.

"How long," he began slowly as the ticked off scientist enunciated each word, before starting again. "How long. Have  _I_. Been working for you?"

Hannibal McFist was silent as the darker man stared him down. The man blinked a few times and Viceroy had nearly given up on him entirely, before a look of concentration crossed McFist's face. He looked at his digits, first fat fleshy ones and then mechanical, as he counted.

"Eh… Fifteen years?" He looked uncertain. "It is fifteen years,  _right_? You were fresh out of college, or something, sporting a REALLY bad haircut."

Viceroy sighed, relief momentarily washing over him. Even if he DID strongly disagree about the hairdo comment.

"You'd be right, baby, it  _has_  been fifteen years. Do you  _see_  why it's so frustrating? In all that time, you ain't bothered t'learn a single thing 'bout me. You CALL me your friend, had me as your best man at you n' Marci's wedding…  _And you don't even know I don't like women._ "

There. It was out. It was over. Except was it really? The look of bafflement on McFists' face made him wonder.

"Eh, Viceroy... that's a little, rude, doncha think? I mean, there's a big difference between not liking someone, and being too shy to talk to them, for crying out loud! Besides, you and Marci get along fine!"

Okay, so it wasn't over. But it was close enough to over for the scientist to feel tired, drained, and relieved. Viceroy heaved a heavy sigh, and shook his head.

"I was talkin' about romantically! Hannibal..." he placed his hands on his boss' shoulders. "I. Am.  _Gay._ "

Silence fell between them. Viceroy kept his hands on Hannibal's shoulders for far too long, and they stared at each other for the same amount of too much time.

"Oh." McFist said at last. Viceroy was thankful for the silence breaker. "Well this got awkward fast."

"Yes it did."

The scientist removed his hands and stepped back, returning to his chair and slumping down into it. Every emotion had been drained out of him during that confrontation, and it had left him exhausted.

"Look, Viceroy…" The stout man started, "I'm not, great, at the whole, emotions thing. But I'm... I'm sorry, alright? I mean I, it's just... oh boy."

McFist took a deep breath and tried again.

"You should've just told me! How was I supposed to know that, huh?"

"Because it was so obvious?" the scientist replied, his tone as calm and sassy as ever. "Hannibal, I ain't ashamed to admit I'm the very definition of the stereotypical gay man."

" _Well_ ," McFist paused, fiddling with his hands, "maybe I'm just not that good with picking up on things,  _okay_?! Nothing personal, just ask the wife. I forget birthdays, anniversaries, noticing when she gets new haircuts,  _yadda yadda yadda_ \- all that stuff and all the time! Doesn't mean Marci isn't still my sugar pumpkin. Heck, if it weren't for you remembering all that stuff, my marriage would probably be just a series of disappoints for her."

Hannibal sighed slowly, eyes closed in frustration as the man hated that it was so hard to just say things. He massaged his temples with his robotic fingers before trying again.

" _Look_ , what I'm trying to say here… is don't be offended. I do it to everybody, not  _just_  you. It's  _hard_  to notice every little thing!"

And that was the closest to a genuine apology as the scientist was ever going to get. Viceroy scoffed, cracking a bit of a grin.

"I shoulda known. Can't expect you t'pick up on sarcasm, let alone anything else."

"Yeah, speaking of which, we need to have a discussion about your attitude-  _your sass levels are way too high!_ " Hannibal's usual glare slipped, showing that he too was joking. He then cleared his throat, still looking a bit disturbed. "Sooo… are we good here? Is this…  _whatever_  between us settled?"

"Depends… you done settin' me up on dates?"

Hannibal threw an arm- thankfully his left- around Viceroy's shoulders.

"Yup! No more dates. With women." Viceroy practically growled at him. "Alright, alright! No more dates, period. Now about that latest plan to capture the ninja. I was thinking something with lasers. Oh! Maybe a giant mountain lion- have we done that?"

Viceroy smiled and let Hannibal go on, as they walked together, McFists' arm still wrapped around his shoulders. If McFist could accept Viceroy for who he was, Viceroy supposed he just might be able to accept his boss for the lovable, bumbling moron he was.

However, there was still one last matter to settle...

"Yeah, so… whatcha gonna do 'bout Marci's friend then? Won't she and your wife be disappointed when I don't show?"

It was McFist's turn to look smug, as he used his free hand to adjust his tie.

"Heh, about that. Lucky for me I never even asked Marci if any of her friends were single. In hindsight, she probably would have laughed, huh?"

"Wait, you LIED?"

"For the good of the cause! I really WAS just trying to help you out!"

And Viceroy couldn't even stay mad at that.

* * *

 

Later that night, as the scientist and his faithful companion Otto were in bed getting ready to make up for all the sleep that hadn't been had the night before, Viceroy grumbled as the apartment's house phone went off. Peeling away his eye mask in just the slightest, the tired scientist sat up from his poofy pillow as he pressed a button on the robot hovering next to him.

"Willem speaking, n' this  _better_ be  _good_."

"Oh, Viceroy," came a familiar tone, "glad I caught you still up."

Viceroy groaned; he should have known it would be his boss on the line- his mother was sensible to call at  _reasonable_  hours.

"I'd  _hardly_  call myself awake. I was halfway between here and a meadow counting sheep- was there something I could DO for you?"

"Eh, more like do for YOU. See, I was talkin' to the wife- and whaddya know, she knew you were fruitier than a fruitbasket all along! So it really  _was_  just me; talk about being the last to know, huh?"

Hannibal McFist chuckled deeply, before carrying on where he left off.

"WELL, calling because she brought up that there are loads of you gay folk around town- and it made me realize there's a whole market that McFist Industries hasn't even tapped into yet!  _Think about it!_  We can do gay books, gay shoes, GAY SNACKS! Whatever they're into, I dunno. That's what  _you're_  here for; I need you-"

Viceroy didn't even let the man finish as he hung up the phone- rolling back to his side and plopping his head on his pillow. He smiled as Otto snuggled next to him, before wrapping an arm around the mechanical sphere of personality and giving him a quick kiss goodnight.

Tomorrow was always another day to deal with stupidity.

* * *

 

**THE END**


End file.
